


With the utmost propriety

by Caritas_Lavellan



Series: Earth Mind: Alternative Perspectives [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Friendship, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Trespasser, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-22 08:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10693035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caritas_Lavellan/pseuds/Caritas_Lavellan
Summary: “I suppose I should be wary of an apostate, but our elven mage has conducted himself with the utmost propriety. And he has the mostfascinatingstories.”Set nine months after the Exalted Council, in spring, 9:45 Dragon, in the world of theEarth Mindseries which focuses on Solas and Virla Lavellan. At present this is simply backstory for that, but I may redraft this in due course with Josephine as the main focus of a longer story and potentially other love interests.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story fits in between [Chapter 16](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9877802/chapters/23601282) and [Chapter 17](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9877802/chapters/23859147) of [Roses and Daisies](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9877802/chapters/22156754) in the [Earth Mind](http://archiveofourown.org/series/306273) series.
> 
> I hadn't seen anything written in this fandom about Josephine and Solas, and thought imagining the events of spring 9:45 Dragon from Josephine's perspective might be interesting. The book mentioned, [Storms of Temptation](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Storms_of_Temptation), is to be found lying around in the gardens of the Winter Palace during the Exalted Council.

Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet was thinking.

That in itself was not unusual. Lady Josephine’s mind normally ran on several tracks at once: financial, legal, social, political. For the last month she had had more urgent matters to concern herself with, such as how to survive with her father and sister in appalling weather on a Rivaini pirate ship while the walls of her beloved Antiva City were besieged by red lyrium rock giants.

What was unusual was that Lady Josephine was thinking about love. She laid her quill down for a moment, staring through the window.

Admittedly, it was the kind of morning that made one think of impossible things, of wistful longings: a bright spring morning, with sunlight making every contrast sharper. Lady Josephine’s eyes tracked the rows of vines, pale green against the dark wood. Each line of orange daisies, running down the centre of each row, newly clipped and cultivated, was a song to gladden her heart. She felt like dancing down the rows.

Of course, she would never actually _do_ that.

****

An hour later, Lady Josephine walked down the steps from the verandah, out into the vineyard and the full heat of the sun. Naturally, she collected a wide-brimmed hat from a hook on her way. She ought to finish checking the accounts, understand how Mother and Laurent and Antoine had survived the last month. But she had been at it for five hours now, since before the sixth bell, and the figures were swimming on the paper.

 _Love._ It whispered at her, called to her, like the memory of a rainbow moon, unreachable… impossible.

Mother had invited Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto of Antiva – and his elder sister Lady Constanza – to lunch. And by the afternoon, her dutiful daughter fully expected to be betrothed to the noble lord. A stunning social success for Lady Josephine, an honour for her family… and a reminder that romantic love was not essential.

Mother’s marriage to Father worked well enough. Perhaps it would not be so bad. She hadn’t seen the noble lord since she was fifteen years old, since before she’d gone to finishing school in Val Royeaux; before she’d trained as a bard; before she’d been appointed Antiva’s ambassador to Orlais; before she’d been ambassador of Virlath Al’var Lavellan’s Inquisition, holed up in a mountain fortress saving the world… yes, before all that.

Before she’d returned to Antiva to manage her family’s estates and trading networks…and before she’d been stuck on a pirate ship for a month. Impossible to believe that only three days since, on the storm-tossed, wind-blown _Radiant Sapphire_ , she’d believed the world would end.

The pirates had given them the use of the first mate’s cabin, and the captain had even loaned them its key. That was as far as luxuries went: the only book on board had been Yvette’s ridiculous pirate fantasy novel, _Storms of Temptation._ She’d almost thrown it in the waves a dozen times. A terrible book, worse than anything Lady Pentaghast might have read or Master Varric Tethras written. Maybe it had been to blame for these thoughts of love: its heroine Amethyste Couronne was nothing if not passionate, whether in resisting the doomed affections of Rivaini pirate Prince Elrado Huracan, or in succumbing to the courtship of the handsome elf Kiel Zebulon.

She couldn’t bring herself to destroy or mislay her sister’s property. But nor could she let Yvette get carried away by reading it again… not even with the end of the world at hand. Thus Lady Josephine had read it. And why Kiel Zebulon should remind her in any way of the Inquisitor’s former lover, the tall apostate Solas… the one who had adored her, left her, infiltrated a Qunari plot to assassinate the leaders of the south… it made no sense.

Kiel Zebulon was dark-skinned like herself, while Solas was pale; had long platinum hair where Solas had kept his head classically bare. Zebulon carried a dagger in his teeth, and laughed at danger. Solas was quiet and scholarly, and conducted himself with the utmost propriety. His fresco paintings were extraordinary; his stories fascinating; and even when he’d danced with the Inquisitor at that infamous Winter Palace ball, after the Duchess de Chalons had been restrained, he hadn’t put a foot wrong. Tall, and elegant. He’d impressed the Empress of Orlais.

Solas made no sense, or hadn’t, even when Most Holy had sat her down and murmured that she thought that Solas must have been rather older than he looked. _Thousands of years…_ said Leliana, shaking her head.

And Inquisitor Lavellan was in her early twenties, several years younger than Josephine herself.

Lady Montilyet sighed. The Inquisitor had saved the world… indeed, had saved it more than once… and lost the Inquisition; lost her arm… and lost her heart as well.

It was enough to make one believe in arranged marriage.

****

She’d been walking through the fields for several minutes, purposefully heading towards the dark black line just visible from the top floor of Villa Montilyet… and far too close for peace of mind, at least in retrospect.

When the attacks first came, she and Yvette had been shopping in the markets with their father, seeking out the perfect turquoise. Huge rock giants, forty feet or more, their stone-slab bodies lashed with crimson lyrium, converging on Antiva City. And in their wake, she later learned, dark trails burned and gouged across the land.

Had it not been for the bold actions of the Rivaini captain Yvette had fainted on – and she _must_ ensure Yvette did not refer to him as _my dashing prince_ at lunch – the three of them would have spent the last month besieged. Instead of which, they’d ridden the heaving waves, watched the slow destruction of Antiva City’s walls, and dodged incendiary fire from Qunari dreadnoughts blown off course.

Her father and Yvette had sketched apocalypse with charcoal rods on broken spars. The artistic temperament!

Josephine had offered appropriate services to their saviours – surely they needed bookkeeping, or… instruction in the new Antivan trading codes? They’d laughed, not entirely unkindly, and left her to her own devices.

That… had not been good. For the first time since she’d left the Inquisition, half a year ago, she’d missed the sense of being at the heart of things, at the nexus of power temporal and spiritual. She’d thought she’d had enough of that. Lady Montilyet had known it was her duty as the eldest child to administer her family’s estate, submit to an appropriate betrothal, restore the name Montilyet to all its former glory. She’d come back home.

But when the world was under siege, she didn’t know where power lay. No other forces came to save Antiva – and passing ships spoke of a blight of giants spread across Highever, Gwaren, Wycome, Par Vollen.  

She would have kept a diary, but parchment was too scarce too waste on fripperies. Wine, and precious gems, and swords; fermented fish; no parchment. No other books. And nothing suitable to put her hair up with!

Lady Josephine had tied her hair with coarse Rivaini twine and wondered if her family were dead. What if Most Holy were dead, Leliana lying crushed in Val Royeaux? Or the Inquisitor, torn to pieces by a force she had no spells to counter? Josephine prayed hourly to the Maker. Surely something terrible had happened, for the land to turn upon itself like this? No ravens reached her on the _Sapphire_ , no news of the Divine, no news… no news.

What had happened to the Inquisition’s Amethyste Couronne: Virla Lavellan, slight and passionate, marked by the Blessed Andraste, wielding the very Fade itself? Was _she_ dead? More than once before, she’d known that fear.

She’d watched the Dalish girl grow into the Inquisitor, from taciturn elf to Herald of Andraste. It had been Virla pulling them together as they strove to find a way to heal the Breach, to overcome Corypheus. Lady Josephine Montilyet had been part of the greatest story of their age – for the Fifth Blight had only touched Ferelden, and rifts sprang up from Kirkwall to the Wilds, from Hissing Wastes to Fallow Mire.

 _Not_ that she had seen them all herself, of course. She’d been the administrator, the expert in a hundred ways and means that funded every aspect of their army. She knew how much an arrow cost, or a dozen carts of lyrium. No empire or kingdom had the wealth to fight against this giant, terrifying army.

Had Corypheus succeeded after all?

She’d cried for Antiva City, and separately for its people. She’d prayed, and cried, tied her hair back again with twine, and taken that terrible book out of its leather wrappings, amazed that it was dry.

And then, suddenly as they came, the giants crumbled. The _Sapphire_ back in port, the normal ranks and courtesies resumed. She’d ushered her sister away… and promised pay for board and lodging to the pirates.

To her surprise, and their credit, they’d accepted. Everything was easier when people saw things as transactions.

Finding herself uncomfortably back in the present, Josephine frowned at the orange flowers. The Inquisitor would never have accepted the money, had she been the captain of that ship. Nor would Kiel Zebulon, first elven captain in that fictional Antivan Navy.

That way lay madness. She had to forget she’d ever read that book. What relief, Lady Montilyet reminded herself, she’d felt to know that Mother and Antoine and Laurent – and the estate – were safe. Almost equal relief, taking the longest bath of her life. They were safe, safe! …and clean, and everything was beautiful again.

But still there was… no news. No idea of what had caused the plague of rock men, or if they might return.

Josephine stared at the dark black furrow, her dainty slippers a careful two feet from it. Was it blighted? Would it spread? It must have been twenty feet across, or more – impossible to measure it from here. Once, she would have put it on a list, and asked for Dagna to examine it… or the Inquisitor, or Solas. No, she was forgetting already: she would have discussed it with the Commander, and with Leliana, and they would have agreed to present the options to Inquisitor Lavellan. The Inquisitor had made these decisions; _she_ had saved the world.

But Lady Josephine was an administrator, and the Kiel Zebulons of this world were not interested in her.

Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto was a good man, or so Mother said, and Mother had good judgement.

Josephine was a good daughter, or so Father said, and she began to walk back home.

 

Halfway back, she saw the raven. Perched on a post, she would pass it closely. She hastened her steps, and noted how her heart sank when she saw it held no letter. Foolish of her to think that any of them might have written first. She had sent her letters only yesterday; it was inconceivable response could have returned by now.

She passed it sadly, brushing a traitorous tear away. Another followed, meeting the same fate. It was silly to be embarrassed by a show of weakness in front of a mere bird. She simply did not wish tear spots on her blouse.

A jangling sound from far away caused her to turn her head: oh dear, the carriage! They were early!

Lady Josephine hastened her steps further, unwilling to break etiquette and run. She needed to wash her hands of ink, and – oh no! – her blouse cuffs had ink on them as well. And her hair was coming down… and she must wash her face in case her eyes were red. She must trust that Mother could entertain them for some minutes while she made her toilette. How indelicate of them, not to come on time!

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to make the chapters in this shorter, so I split the first long one into two.

Lord Adorno and Lady Constanza were complimentary about the house, the resurgence in the Montilyet family fortunes, the old wine from the cellars, and even Father’s paintings. Josephine’s parents were charmed. Antoine and Laurent were behaving decently for once, and Yvette had managed so far not to mention anything too indiscreet. It seemed the Otranto estate had not been anywhere near the paths of the rock giants: they had stayed inside their mansion and counted themselves lucky. It was as if the last month had never happened.

Josephine wanted to scream. Where was the fear, bemusement, the need to know why everything had happened? Where was the passionate questioning of faith… even the desire to understand how they might fund the rebuilding of Antiva City? Lord Adorno was a scion of merchant princes, inheriting his wealth not a merchant himself. What would she have to do at his estate? Make small talk with Lady Constanza, bear princelings who might learn to tell a good wine from a great, or a hundred-sovereign dowry from a thousand-sovereign prize?

And the man himself: handsome in an ugly kind of way, with pale eyes under heavy eyebrows, dark hair and unshaved stubble, a white looped cravat, teal and brown jacket and brown ankle boots. There was no spark of romance, but she’d not expected that. He inspired… nothing in her: not dislike, not abhorrence, not affection. He seemed like the kind of man who would fight a duel because he was expected to, who would kill a man as easily as trade with him.

She talked on, pleasantly, and felt that woman slip away, the one whom the Divine had thought of as a sister, the one who’d made the Inquisition’s fortune, paid its army. The Inquisition was dead, and so was she.

Only Lady Josephine Cherette Otranto of Antiva would remain.

She wondered if the mansion had a library, or not.

****

After a light, exquisite lunch – trust Mother to have contrived! – they sat out on the back verandah, enjoying the warm spring sun. Antivan brandy in her hand, she span it out, knowing that its end would mean her own. Mother would offer to show Lady Constanza the house. Father would talk finances with Lord Adorno. She would attend Mother, until Father was ready. Then, Adorno would propose. She would accept. It was the Antivan way.

Josephine stared into the brandy. She wondered where the Ambassador had gone.

It was Yvette – it was _always_ Yvette – who saw it first.

“Josie, look!” she cried, pointing towards the far horizon. “It’s a dragon flying, a white dragon!”

“There are no dragons in Antiva,” said Lord Montilyet, smiling at his younger daughter.

“There does appear to be something,” commented Lord Adorno. “Lady Yvette is correct.”

Yvette beamed at him, then shaded her eyes with her hand to see more clearly against the sun. “It’s coming closer. Look! What can it be?”

“If I didn’t know they were extinct,” said her father, “I would say it was a griffon. Like the Grey Wardens rode, centuries ago, to fight the Archdemon Andoral.”

Josephine had been watching the creature, brandy momentarily forgotten. “I think there is a rider, Father.”

There was a rider, and he wore an Inquisition uniform: formal azure, with a gold sash crosswise; slim tan boots, and… Josephine was almost out of her seat and running to meet him, but remembered proper etiquette. Solas had stayed mounted, on the road outside the house’s boundary, as if fearing to trespass on their land.

“Father,” she said, “I believe that is Messere Solas, of the Inquisition. Baron Desjardins will have told you of his fresco at Skyhold. I do not know why he would be riding a griffon, but he may bring news.”

Lady Constanza raised a pencilled eyebrow. Before she could speak, the elder Lady Montilyet had rung a bell for their butler. Leon was dispatched to speak with the strange man on the griffon, while Josephine put her brandy glass aside and tried to keep her heart from pounding. The last time she’d seen Solas had been… well, when he’d left with Inquisitor Lavellan, in haste for the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Three years ago. Did the Inquisitor know he was here? Did she know he lived?

Of course… the Inquisitor had seen him, very briefly last summer, when he’d saved her life by cutting off her arm. Josephine had never dared ask exactly what had passed between them then, and suspected that her friends had kept her in the dark. Her role, it had been clear, had been to calm Ferelden and Orlais, and prevent Virla Lavellan losing everything she’d gained. _All I want is Skyhold, Josie. Let them take the rest._

The Inquisitor – minus an Inquisition – had gone north, she thought, with Dorian. Tevinter had seemed an odd choice of destination, and…

…and she’d completely missed what Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto had been saying.

When she realised it had been about his favourite blend of coffee, a topic Father and Antoine could comfortably manage for some minutes, Josephine felt able to let her mind wander.

A griffon! Where had Solas found one? And what a romantic way to arrive… and so proper not to land near the house, but outside the back gates. That uniform – surely he must be with the Inquisition… Inquisitor again, to wear that blue. She’d arranged for the design, she’d have recognised it anywhere. Was it her imagination, or was he standing a little taller, a little more proudly in it, his bearing more noble… happier?

Happier meant good news. Josephine could have cried with relief.

****

Leon walked back, alone, and spoke to Lady Montilyet. “Madama, Messere Solas of the Inquisition. He carries an urgent message for Lady Josephine from Divine Victoria. He asks whether he may deliver it in person.”

Lady Montilyet exchanged a look with her daughter, and inclined her head. “If he has travelled far, perhaps he might join us on the verandah. I should not wish to be uncivil to a messenger from the Divine.”

When Solas joined them, he bowed to each correctly in turn – Lady Montilyet, Lady Constanza, Lord Adorno, Lord Montilyet, and then the siblings Josephine, Yvette, Laurent, Antoine – as introductions were made. Josephine found herself wondering just when the solitary apostate had learned Antivan etiquette, and remembered with a shock that he’d had time. _Thousands of years…_ said Leliana.

She found herself looking at Solas anew, conscious of his difference, his elegance, his poise. He hadn’t lied to them, said Leliana. He’d simply never told them all of the truth. It wasn’t as if either of them would own she’d been a bard… would Mother have told Lord Adorno? Would Father? No. Would she?

How had she been so close to accepting her fate? It was like falling down a flight of stairs with a knife clattering away. Josephine met Solas’ gaze, and was startled to find kindness in it, something like affection.

 _You need a friend,_ was what that gaze said, or what she wished to read in it.

He couldn’t know of her month of terror, or of the purpose of the Otrantos’ visit here, but she knew he could read the tears in her eyes, the way her hand shook when she tried to sip the brandy. Solas passed her the parchment, sealed with the Divine’s own seal, and written in Leliana’s graceful, looping hand.

Lady Josephine scanned it quickly, then, clearing her throat, read it out to the assembled company.

“Ma chere Josephine,” she began, forcing her voice to remain steady, “I am sending this message with Solas: it will reach you faster this way. I hope you are well; he has orders to search for you and make sure you are safe.”

“That is excessively kind of her,” said Lord Montilyet, patting his daughter’s arm gently. “And of you, messere, to bring us tidings. What manner of creature is it, that you have ridden?”

“She is a griffon, my lord,” said Solas. “Her name is Zephyr of Weisshaupt. She comes from a noble lineage, descended both from the steed that carried the Grey Warden Garahel into battle in the Exalted Age, and from one owned by the Vaels of Starkhaven. Griffons are noble mounts, and vastly intelligent.”

Josephine was puzzled. Solas had fully supported the Inquisitor’s decision to exile the Grey Wardens from Orlais. Why would he have obtained a griffon from their stronghold? It would not be polite to ask him now.

Her father chuckled. “Impressive! Have you come all the way from Val Royeaux? How fares Orlais?”

“From Skyhold,” said Solas, with a gentle smile for Josephine alone. “Divine Victoria stays with the Herald of Andraste, Lady Inquisitor Lavellan, until Summerday. All is calm again in Thedas: in Orlais as well as Antiva.”

“Does not the Divine normally spend Summerday in Val Royeaux?” asked Lady Montilyet, a perplexed frown crossing her brow. “I once attended the old Divine’s Summerday sermon in the Grand Cathedral.”

“The Divine was due to spend Summerday in Denerim,” said Josephine, fixing her eyes on the parchment, “but she says here that the marriage of Queen Anora to Arl Teagan has been postponed, due to the recent incursions. And… she begs my immediate attendance on her at Skyhold, for a matter of great importance.”

“I was asked to convey the Divine’s apologies to Lady Josephine’s family, Lady Montilyet,” said Solas, bowing again. “I believe she would not ask if it were not important. I am to convey her to Skyhold forthwith.”

Yvette had been unusually silent, with a dreamy look in her eyes that inevitably heralded trouble. Fatal, if she fell for Solas also. “Oh!” she cried. “You mean… to ride on your dragon, across the Waking Sea?”

“If Lady Josephine would be content to ride on Zephyr,” said Solas, politely ignoring Yvette’s mistake, “then this would ensure that she would reach the Divine’s side well before nightfall.”

Lord Adorno had also been quiet, but frowning, and at this he spoke. “That is hardly appropriate, serah.”

Solas raised his eyebrows. Yvette, who had been eyeing him closely, let out a sigh, which Josephine ignored. “Had there been another way to serve Divine Victoria in this,” he said, “I am sure she would have ordered it.”

“But what if Lady Josephine is not content to ride in front of you on your beast?” asked Adorno, glaring at him.

“She might instead ride behind me,” said Solas, with exquisite calm. “But perhaps I have misunderstood your relationship with Lady Josephine, and should have addressed myself to you first?”

There was a pause, and Josephine held her breath. All eyes were fixed on Lord Adorno, to see which way he would leap. Mother was put out, Father silently amused, Yvette perplexed, and Josephine felt dazed.

“She is not betrothed to me,” said Lord Adorno, backing down. “I defer to her parents on this matter.”

Lady Montilyet nodded, her lips tight. Lady Josephine kept her face carefully blank, but inside she was singing. The man had been disarmed, so deftly that he didn’t even realise it. She wanted to laugh, to cheer, to dance. Mother would never let him marry her now, not when he had been so intemperate in front of their other guest, a messenger of the Divine; nor yet since he had challenged their parental authority over their daughter.

Of course, that did not mean they would actually let her go, but the question could not be properly addressed until Lord Adorno and Lady Constanza had been tactfully escorted off the premises. Mother could not exert her authority in public, and Father would not dare form an opinion unless he knew exactly what his wife would wish.

But Mother was reliably devout. From the martial look in Mother’s eye, she suspected she would soon be on a griffon.

Thankfully, Solas always behaved with the utmost propriety. She had nothing to fear from being… in his arms… a hundred feet in the air… flying on a legendary creature. It was nothing at all like the exploits of Amethyste Couronne.

Josephine’s heart began to beat quite fast.

  



	3. Chapter 3

Josephine sat uncomfortably on Zephyr as the large, pale grey griffon knelt for Solas to climb on; she checked repeatedly the leather straps that would help ensure that neither she nor her satchel could slide off in flight. As she waited, Josephine was simultaneously horrified by the sharpness of Zephyr’s talons and impressed by Solas’ ability to command and communicate with her. She smelled like a wild beast, with a dark, earthy scent.

Once the Otrantos had left, soothed with a valuable coffee concession, and while she was packing her small bag with essentials, Solas had apparently taken Father and each of her siblings up in turn, for a brief flight to overlook the Montilyet estate. Josephine had come down to find Laurent still in the air; Father and Antoine exchanging jokes about the new experience; and Yvette whispering to her how _lucky_ she was, with a fluttering sideways glance at Solas. Mother looked as if she’d been praying for the last half-hour, but that was not unusual.

The flights had served their likely purpose though, in reconciling her family to the new mode of transport. Josephine grasped the secondary reins that Solas passed back to her, a twin of those he held himself. Solas had ensured that the griffon could finish a final draught of water before he mounted. They were ready, it seemed.

“Think of Zephyr as a mare, Lady Josephine,” said Solas, smiling back at her. “I remember you as an excellent rider. Nonetheless I will have her well in hand; do not pull the reins unless I am incapacitated. Are you ready?”

She nodded, telling herself that she could be at least as brave as Yvette. After multiple farewells had been exchanged, they galloped forward and soared up into the air, and Josephine managed not to scream in terror at the sudden leap away from the ground. Solas was close in front of her, his shoulders blocking the view forward. Josephine ventured a glance to the side and watched the ground dipping away, the villa and the vineyards shrinking minute by minute. The sight made her unexpectedly dizzy; her hands grew sweaty on the reins.

Josephine fixed her eyes on Solas’ back, smart in its azure suiting, and found her gaze drifting upwards to the points of his ears. If he was an ancient elf, as Leliana had believed, it explained his skill with the fresco, his understanding of the ancient elven magicks of Skyhold – its very location! – and the breadth of knowledge he’d displayed throughout their acquaintance. From all the ruins she had seen, in the Arbor Wilds or elsewhere, the ancient elven empire must have had a grace and charm to it that present-day Thedas could only dream of.

To her newly awakened eyes, Solas seemed to embody all that grace and charm. The contrast with Lord Adorno was… severe. A sudden rush of pleasure filled her senses, a consciousness of proximity to a handsome man.

It had been years since someone had affected her like this, thought Josephine, surprised. And usually it had been women, beautiful and brave. She had had a crush on Celene once, from a distance; and a Chantry Mother.  

Josephine found herself shivering. Had she ever felt like this about a man?

They’d levelled out, were no longer climbing. The wind blew hard against them, deafening sound. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and the light reins she was holding felt like no protection from a long, long, long fall down.

“It is a long way down,” she called, over the noise of the wind. “We are going fast! When will we reach Skyhold?”

“For Zephyr this is a smooth canter,” called Solas, looking back at her with amusement dancing in his eyes. Disentangling his right hand from the reins, he flicked his wrist. Josephine stiffened in shock, before she realised what he’d done had been to cast a barrier around them, temporarily making it possible to hear more easily.

“Unfortunately, I cannot keep this barrier up for long,” he explained in a normal tone. “Zephyr has not yet accustomed herself to my magic. She will tolerate it for a minute at the most.”

It was indeed strange, the sensation of magic licking her skin.

“Thank you, messere,” she said, reverting to politeness, glad she’d managed to keep the tremor from her voice.

Solas looked at her closely, glancing at her tight hold of the reins, her knuckles pale in contrast to her wrists and hands. Josephine looked away, not wishing to hold that piercing gaze for long, then winced as she saw the drop again.

“I do not think that you are finding this ride entirely to your taste, Ambassador,” said Solas, his voice light, then, as she would have demurred, shook his head. “No… there is no need to be polite. If we are to reach Skyhold before nightfall we need to go even faster. Before I let the barrier drop, Lady Montilyet, if you would find it more reassuring, I do not think it would be indelicate if you were to put your arms around my waist.”

She was beginning to feel nauseous, and simply nodded. As he inched back into her hold, gathering up both sets of reins, she reached out her arms around him, and laid her head gratefully against his back.

“It is my pleasure,” said Solas, answering the thanks she had been unable to voice. “Hold tight.”

His words were a conventional platitude, calming to the soul. Josephine shut her eyes, and felt the magic leave her skin. The noise of the wind returned in force, and Solas spurred Zephyr into acceleration.

He seemed to have no fear of flight. She’d always thought him a cautious man, until today.

Solas’ body was firm and warm and solid, comfortingly real. Her thighs were pressed tightly against his own, her hands clasped around her wrists in front of him. His scent drowned out the musk of the griffon: a heady blend of cinnamon and elfroot. Besides the formal forms of dancing, she’d rarely been this close to a man before, not since as a child she’d sat upon her father’s knee with her brother Laurent, playing at painting.

They flew in silence for a long time, unable to hold any effective conversation over the sound of the wind.

And for a long time, all she could think of was how wonderful it was that she could feel this way about a man.

How wonderful… and terrible… that it should be _this_ man. Though she had always held Solas in respect, he had never had this effect on her before. Perhaps it was the smartness of the uniform, or something in the way he held himself now, proud and unafraid. There was a change, a joyful fearlessness that could not fail to be attractive. For the first time, she understood what the Inquisitor might have seen in him.

Josephine breathed quietly, afraid of the burgeoning strength of her own feelings. If he was still in love with the Inquisitor, and even worse, if she loved him, this crush was doomed before it started. Not to mention what Mother would say, if she returned home with a mage. An elf with no home, no established networks…

Solas was impossible, would always be impossible. Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet was destined to be married to a man of means, a noble lord who could raise the Montilyets’ fortunes further. But if she _could_ feel this way about a man, then maybe somewhere there would be a man that even Mother might approve.

Lady Josephine would not marry Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto, not for all the coffee in Antiva.

She must find a man that she adored.

****

After a while, Josephine realised that they were descending, the wind’s noise fading from roar to rush as they slowed. She’d gathered they were heading west, following the river towards Seleny. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, and for the second time she wondered how they’d make it all the way to Skyhold by nightfall.

She thought about Leliana’s letter, stamped with her personal seal. If it was a forgery, and this a trick, it was a fine one. “Why are we landing here?” she called, as Solas rode Zephyr down. She lifted her head from his back for the first time in an hour, and looked. They seemed to be heading for a clearing in the middle of swampland.

Terror overwhelmed her, and she clutched at him. “I’ll explain when we’re down,” he shouted. “Hard to land!”

A few horrifying minutes later, they were on the ground. She looked around, and was surprised to find it beautiful: a waterfall in the middle of a grove, with emerald dragonflies dancing over the water. Solas commanded Zephyr to kneel – he seemed to be speaking in Elvish to her, from what Josephine could tell.

“You’ll need to let go of me,” he said, his voice amused. “If I can get off, I can lift you down. I need to get Zephyr something to eat. I have a store of food nearby, if you are hungry.”

Josephine let her arms slip from around him, and soon found herself beside him on the ground. And then… not beside him. She couldn’t remember what they called that magic, where someone was transported forward through the Fade. _Fade walk? No, Fade step!_

There was something lurking in the swamp, an ugly grey beast. Magic flew out of his hands, stunning it, and Josephine managed not to scream. Zephyr made a low rumbling noise of satisfaction, and flew around her to get to it. The griffon seized the animal in its maw, tearing at its flesh. Josephine… did not feel hungry in the slightest.

Solas appeared beside her out of the air, and this time she actually screamed. “ _Ir abelas,_ ” he said, then, when she looked blank, translated for her. “My apologies. I was forgetting that you were rarely out in the field with us. Would you care to walk a little way away? She will not leave here.”

“What would we do if she did?” asked Josephine, accepting the arm he offered her. They began to walk towards the waterfall, stepping over grass that was greener than she had expected.

Solas thought for a moment, taking the question seriously. He looked towards the waterfall. “I would escort you to the eluvian, and through the Crossroads to Skyhold. Then I would return, and seek out Zephyr.”

“Oh! We are travelling by eluvian?” That… made far more sense.

He chuckled. “Even a griffon could not make it to Skyhold by nightfall. I did not care to let your sister know that you would be stepping through a magic mirror; she was keen enough that I should take her instead of you.”

Josephine frowned. “My sister says the most ridiculous things.”

“Yes, she does,” said Solas, smiling down at her, and making her traitorous heart leap again. “But you are sensible, Lady Josephine. You would never let your hair fall down around your shoulders, flying on a griffon.”

She put her hand up to her hair, and was dismayed to find it completely out of its moorings.

It was hard to keep the frustration out of her voice, as she glared up at him. “What else haven’t you told me?”

“Many things,” said Solas, his light tone turning to… sadness? “I judged that you would prefer me not to give a full briefing in front of your family, nor would it have been wise. Besides, we have a way to fly within the Crossroads.”

Something didn’t quite add up. “You said that if the griffon flew away, we would go through the Crossroads.”

“It is quicker to fly,” said Solas, with a shrug. He frowned again, and appeared to come to a decision. “When we reach Skyhold, Divine Victoria will brief you on a number of important matters. She told me you were kept in ignorance of many things she knew over the past year. This was for your own safety. She is very fond of you.”

Josephine nodded. They carried on walking, at a sedate pace. The waterfall fell, white and bubbling and pure, from an enormous height. Yet she had flown far higher today, flying out of convention and into a dream.

Solas cleared his throat. “But there are a few things we agreed I should divulge. The first I gather Leliana already suspected and shared with you. I am far older than I appear. Thousands of years ago, I lived in Arlathan.”

“Indeed, we hoped as much. How romantic!” said Josephine, years of careful training enabling her to add, without perceptible pause or obvious resentment: “I take it Inquisitor Lavellan is aware?”

“Yes, she has known since last summer,” said Solas. His face was flushed; he continued in a rush. “I apologise for the deception; I believed it was necessary at the time. But since we returned to Skyhold, Virlath has done me the honour of consenting to be my wife! We are to be married on Summerday. We hope you will attend.”

She could not keep her heart from throbbing painfully, even though she had expected the blow. Years of careful training enabled her to respond appropriately: “My congratulations, messere. I wish you very happy.”

  



End file.
